


The Beasts at the Gates

by Fyre



Category: Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-01-27 20:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21398491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: When Viktor laid a trap for Lucian with Sonja as bait, he did not imagine the bait would bite back.
Relationships: Lucian/Sonja (Underworld)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing with this for months and realised I should probably start posting it. It's another one of my personal writing challenges, keeping it to 1000 words per chapter, every chapter. It's also a RoL alternate ending, because I adore Sonja and I want more of her.

The trap was laid

Sonja was the unwilling bait.

She paced her chambers, hands trembling with fury. Her father would not show mercy, not to one who had flagrantly flouted his will. If he had punishment in mind for her, it was nothing compared to what he had planned for Lucian.

They had disarmed her, removed her weapons, and sealed her chambers. From the sounds in the halls, there were guards and many of them. They had underestimated the blacksmith before. Clearly, they did not intend to make the same mistake again.

He would come.

No matter that it was a trap. No matter the walls, the obstacles and everything else that lay between them.

He would come.

Through the window, the silver of moonrise shone. That was when he was strongest. He would come and if she didn’t meet him halfway, he – or they – would both die.

She circled the room again, considering all that was left. The furniture was solid. Perhaps it wouldn’t be fatal against armour, but it didn’t need to be. It simply needed to be enough to breach their defences. She took the chair, bringing it down with all the force she could muster, on the floor.

The crash alerted the guards, raising shouts.

“My lady!”

Sonja examined two broken chair legs. They had cracked off cleanly, splintered points at the end. Basic weapons, but useful enough. Beyond the window, she heard the hum of the horn, a warning. No time to wait.

Gathering her strength, she gripped her exquisite and – above else – solid marble table and pushed. It screamed across the floor, crashing into the ornate doors. One blow, another. The door erupted outwards, splinters and metal and screams filling the air.

Sonja snatched up the chair legs and ran.

Bloodied eyes stared at her. The first were too startled to strike. Ragged wood tore through their throats, but their compatriots did not make the same mistake. They took up defensive stances, weapons at the ready, but she could see the hesitation.

She had commanded them after all.

It took a strong creature to attack one who had led them.

An arrow whiffled by her head, several recoiling in shock, which she used to her advantage. With the blunt end of the chair leg, she brought one down, doubling back with the sharp end to swipe the eyes from another.

A dip took her beneath a sword. She brought her weapon up under the vampire’s ribs, crushing his heart into his throat. He folded like paper and she snatched his sword in place of one of the chair legs.

Blood sprayed as she carved a bloody wake through her former allies. Soldiers fought, she told herself. Soldiers died for orders. Orders would kill Lucian and that, she could never allow. Her own body burned with near-misses, but little by little, she drove them back.

She was sprinting down the stairs when a Lycan howl, agonised and frantic, from the courtyard made her heart stop.

“Lucian!”

She tore the door open, the chill of the night’s rain washing over her. Lightning tore across the sky, casting the world in a sharp relief: her father standing over the vast fallen body, sword thrust deep through it. Through him.

Sonja’s world turned to ice and shadow. “No.”

Even over the raging storm, her father heard her. He looked at her, his face twisted in disgust, then tore the sword upwards.

“NO!”

The cleaved body spilled open, blood and entrails pouring across the flagstones.

A scream of fury tore from her throat and she launched herself at her father. He spun on his heel, his blade meeting hers, the metal singing. It gleamed red and she struck out again with a stolen dagger, under his guard, striking across his ribs.

He snarled savagely, backhanding her with enough for to send her tumbling across the courtyard. “This was for your own good, Sonja!”

She staggered to her feet, her vision spotting black, her mouth filling with blood. “I will kill you,” she hissed. “I will kill you myself.”

If he had been the first she had fought that night, she might have won. But he was not and he was angry. Their blades clashed, but her feet were unsteady and her head still spinning from his blow. The pommel of his blade caught her on the temple, folding her to her knees.

Light dimmed, shrinking her world to a narrow tunnel. Her arms, pinioned. A fist in her hair, pulling her head back, forcing her to watch as the fragments of the wolf were dragged and tossed in pieces into the furnace.

Her throat burned, her eyes overflowing, and she sagged, shuddering.

Ice-cold fingers tilted her face up. Her father, gazing down at her.

“You should not have done that.” He almost sounded sad. She hissed, lunging to tear at him. Another vicious backhand left her sprawled on the flagstones. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” She echoed.

“This is not how I wanted this to end.” Her father looked towards the guards. “Open the gates.”

“My Lord?”

Viktor – not her father, not ever again – looked back down at her, cold and dispassionate. “If she loves the animals so much, the animals can have her.”

They hesitated. It was enough to make her father snarl low in his throat. Their grips trembled. If her world wasn’t shaking beneath her, she would have lunged, torn him to pieces, but her body betrayed her, as they dragged her to her feet and towards the gates.

“My lady,” one of the guards said, offering her a sword.

“No.” Viktor’s voice. “She takes nothing with her.”

The only respect they could show her was to lower her to her knees beyond the walls. Behind her, the gates doors swung closed, the sound like thunder. Rain battered down on her, blood streaming down her face.

The moon was high.

Night.

A small mercy.

With what little strength she had left, she stumbled to her feet and ran.


	2. Chapter 2

Tension was rife through the citadel when night fell.

Tanis had spent much of the day in the quiet sanctuary of the archives. One might consider it hiding to save his own skin, but given he had already been confronted by Viktor over the Lycans’ escape and survived the encounter, he preferred to consider it erring on the side of caution.

Reports had flooded in from their human settlements and other members of the council about a Lycan force decimating their estates. Viktor’s mood had permeated every stone of the fortress, a dark and malevolent force that a wise man would do his utmost to avoid.

It clashed again the threat and promise of Lucian’s return, that hung over the citadel like a thundercloud.

Given all he had seen of the lady Sonja and the Lycan, Tanis personally had no doubt that Lucian would return for Viktor’s daughter. He wasn’t sure if he could consider it love, but it was certainly enough to cause Lucian to make stupid and reckless decisions at his own expense. Removing his collar had been a mistake, escaping even moreso. Of course he would come back.

That, more than anything, was a cause of concern.

Only two people knew of his treachery and the key he had dropped into the Lycan’s cell.

Viktor would have torn his throat out at the mere suspicion of it, but if either of them breathed a word of it, giving anything Viktor wanted to save the life of their lover, then…

An agonised howl shook him from his introspection and he scrambled to his feet, abandoning the scroll he had been failing to read for hours. Viktor would not doubt have set a trap for the Lycan and it sounded as if it had been sprung.

Even before he emerged into the halls, he could smell the blood and hear the distant ring of blades. Cautiously, he wound his way down the staircases, stopping short at the sight of bodies scattered on the stairs close to the doors, some living, some dead, almost every one of them bleeding.

The doors swung inwards, crashing against the walls.

Tanis reared back a step, throat tightening at the sight of Viktor, his rage palpable in the air.

The coven leader didn’t seem to notice him, or perhaps didn’t care to, snarling commands to his soldiers. One hand was pressed to his side, his knuckles sharp and white against his skin. His robes were soaked in blood and gore. Lycan or werewolf from the smell of it, but there was a sharper scent of vampiric blood as well.

Boots clattered and the soldiers dispersed and all at once, Tanis felt extremely exposed as Viktor’s eyes turned in his direction.

“The Lycan?” he asked, throat dry.

“Dead.” Viktor prowled up the stairs, bloody footprints left in his wake.

Close-to, Tanis saw threads of blood streaking between Viktor’s fingers, an intricate lacework of scarlet spreading across the back of his hand. He tore his eyes away from it only to find Viktor’s ice-blue eyes fixed on his face.

“Dead,” he managed to echo through a throat closed tight. That was… good. Yes, good. One of the witnesses was gone. “Well-deserved too.”

Viktor didn’t move, still and pale as marble. “Mm.” He took a slow breath, then took a step up the stairs. For a moment he remained there, then took another step, his unblooded hand reaching out to press to the wall.

He was, Tanis realised in horrified awe, injured. Badly enough to take his time.

“My Lord…”

Icy eyes flashed at him and mutely, he offered his arm.

For an unbearably long moment, Viktor only stared at him, then he grasped Tanis’s arm, his fingers gripping like pincers. It took them several minutes to reach the top of the stairs, where Viktor uncurled his fingers.

“Blood,” he said tersely, leaning heavily against the wall. “Fetch some.”

“You should rest, my Lord,” Tanis looked along the corridor. “Your chamber–”

A muscle tensed in Viktor’s cheek. “Blood,” he repeated in a low growl. “I do not need your… advice.”

Tanis bowed his head compliantly, hurrying away through the corridors. He returned moments later, a pitcher and goblet in one hand. He held out the goblet, but Viktor brushed his hand aside, snatching the pitcher instead and draining it. Thick drops of blood ran down his chin, dripping onto his robe.

The effect was immediate, his vitality visibly returning. He straightened from the wall, a low sigh of satisfaction escaping him, and he lifted his bloody hand away from his side. Tanis’s eyes were inexorably dragged to the sight of a tear that had cleaved cleanly through clothing and flesh. Under his shocked gaze, he saw the wound – not caused by claws or teeth but what could only be a blade – close up.

The pitcher clattered to the floor.

Tanis swallowed, looking back into Viktor’s cold blue stare. “A cruel battle, my Lord?”

Viktor’s upper lip drew back from his teeth. “Enough.” He turned, striding away along the corridor, his boots crashing on the stone and tile floor. Not, Tanis noticed, in the direction of his chamber, but towards the watch towers and inner passages of the outer wall.

“Is– is there anything else you need me to do, my Lord?” he said, cautiously following. “Shall I–” It was foolish to suggest it, but better to be sure that his… not ally, per se, but not enemy, would not turn on him now that her plaything was dead. “Shall I inform your daughter?”

Viktor stopped. “My daughter,” he echoed, his voice flat.

“Of the Lycan’s death?” Tanis said, pressing his nails into his palms to calm himself.

Viktor neither moved nor turned his head. “My daughter,” he said with a voice like crack of doom, “is dead.” 

Tanis found he could no longer move nor breathe, his heart rattling in his chest as Viktor walked away, leaving nothing but blood and filth on the floor. 


	3. Chapter 3

The rain was falling heavily, but the moonlight was waning.

“We need to go,” Sabas said quietly. “He’s– he’s not coming back.”

Raze set his jaw, looking out into the darkness. They’d stayed close to the edge of the forest, waiting for Lucian's return, but Sabas was right. They had heard the howl of pain from the citadel. It didn’t sound human or even Lycan, raw and agonised.

“Go on,” he said quietly. “Get back to the others. I’ll wait until dawn.”

“Raze…”

“I’ll wait,” he repeated, “until dawn.”

Sabas made a sound of acknowledgement, then shifted form and loped off through the trees.

Raze shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, watching the open ground between the forest and the citadel. Sabas was too distracted and anxious, his mind elsewhere. He had been pacing and fretting too much. He hadn’t noticed the gates opening. He hadn’t noticed the figure cast out of them.

Raze had watched as the figure stumbled onwards, away from the citadel. There was blood and smoke in the air, half-smothered by the downpour. Once Sabas was out of earshot, he unfolded from beneath the canopy and picked his way down towards the valley to intercept the runaway on the edge of the forest.

It was a woman.

No. A female vampire.

She wore the clothing of the upper-classes, but it was sliced to shreds against her marble-white skin. Blood ran from vicious cuts all about her body. Her face was marred by ugly bruises, her eyes turned silver in the moonlight. He could smell the blood on her. Hers and that of others. And tears.

He stepped out from beneath the shelter of the trees.

She saw him, stumbled to a halt.

There was fear there, but she met his eyes with defiance.

“You are Sonja?”

She jerked her chin in a tight nod. “I am.”

“Lucian?”

The composed icy façade crumbled like dust. “Dead.” She lifted her chin, baring her throat, both challenge and submission. “You will kill me?”

Raze glanced out towards the citadel. They would have eyes on her. They had sent her out, bare-armed and defenceless, knowing of the enemy at the gates. They wanted to see her dead. So, he thought, he would let them see.

“Forgive me,” he said, then backhanded her hard enough to send her spilling onto the ground. She scrambled back, the terror on her face suddenly very sharp and very real. He bent over her, baring his teeth. “They are watching.”

Understanding flared in her eyes. A smart one, this one, and she half-nodded, then groped behind her, grabbing a broken branch as a weapon.

It was not true combat with both of them striking without any real intent to do harm, but when he shifted form and tackled her to the ground, hurtling them both under the cover of the trees, he hoped it was convincing enough.

For a long while, they remained still, waiting in case anyone was still watchful. The only sound was the rumble of the thunder overhead and the patter of rain falling around them.

She lay still beneath him, shivering from exhaustion. He shifted back when the moon slid behind the clouds, masking the world in darkness, his face close to hers.

“Why?” she breathed.

Raze sank back onto his heels. “For him,” he said simply. “He loved you.”

Her injuries seemed like nothing to her, but those words made her fold in on herself. She sank her face into her hands and though she made no sound, the scent of salt was strong. Raze hesitated, then gently squeezed her shoulder.

“Come,” he said. “We don’t have much time. We need to find shelter. Dawn is coming.”

Sonja nodded. A true soldier, he thought, as she got up, blinking the tears from her eyes and straightened her back. He motioned up the slope, flinching when she caught his arm.

“Do you have a blade?” she asked quietly.

“A blade?”

“Something sharp.” She glanced back at the citadel. “They will check come daybreak. They must believe what they saw.” She held out her bare arm. “We need blood.”

He hesitated, then shifted one of his hands, the claws long and vicious. “It’s all I have.”

She set her jaw. “Do it.” Blood rained down on the ground. Together, they scuffed the dirt, cracking branches and breaking the undergrowth. She finally nodded in approval and somehow, closed the wound with nothing more than a press of her hand. “Now, drag me up. They will think you consumed me. We can lay a fire further up.”

“Why?”

She nodded skywards. “The sun burning the remains away.”

One side of Raze’s mouth curved up. “Very convincing.”

She gave him a bleak smile of her own. “I know how they think.”

He half-carried, half dragged her to the top of the narrow ridge. “I can send someone back to make the fire in daylight. Maybe you can leave some clothes, something–”

She touched his arm suddenly. She wasn’t looking at him, instead staring out into the forest around them. “They’re here,” she breathed.

Raze looked around warily. Now, his focus off her and her blood, he was amazed he hadn’t smelled the reek of damp fur sooner. “Lycans?”

She shook her head tightly. “Worse.”

Between the trees, he could make out the looming shadows. A dozen, maybe more. Flashes of gleaming eyes.

“Go,” she said quietly.

Raze stared at her. “What?”

She bared her teeth at him. “You can change. Go. He wanted you to be free.”

Raze looked between her – unarmed, swaying from loss of blood and grief – and the legion of furious wolves. “You’ll die.”

She smiled bitterly. “So be it.” She shoved him away from her. “Go!”

He stared at her in disbelief, a vampire laying down her life to spare his. “No,” he snarled as he shifted again, looming over her. She stared up at him, then gave him a nod of silent gratitude and turned to face their enemies.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was rising, clearing the last of the rain, the ground steaming with the heat.

Viktor stood in the doorway, watching as lances of gold spread across the citadel. His eyes were fixed on the distant forest, watching, waiting. It took time, but the trees were thick and the sun would not penetrate them easily.

He folded one hand tightly around the other, eyes fixed, squeezing until his bones ground together, waiting, waiting, waiting.

A column of smoke appeared. Not the smoke of damp wood and undergrowth. Paler, a whisper, then gone.

Viktor’s heart stuttered in his chest. He closed his eyes, drawing and releasing a slow breath.

She died in combat, that was the best that could be said for her. If the question was raised, she died as she had lived: reckless, wild and with blood on her hands. Better there than in the execution chamber. A little dignity, far more than she deserved.

The blades of sunlight were spreading and he stepped back into the cool shadows of the fortress, his eyes adjusting quickly to the lamp-dim interior. The halls were deserted and quiet, as was always so during the daylight hours.

No one saw him as he walked to the spiralling staircase, higher and higher, to a cell that had been there as a chamber of execution long before they had found a way to make it more of a spectacle and more of a warning.

The doors were thick, layered with iron and bolts. Nothing was getting out that they did not intend to free. There were guards too, those he knew he could trust and who had no qualms about harming the prisoner should he do something reckless.

One of them opened the doors, one by one, to grant Viktor entrance, closing each behind him, the bolts slamming home. In the final doorway, he stood, impassive, and looked into the room.

The cell was drenched in daylight. It illuminated the bloody, bruised creature pinioned to the wall by thick silver shackles, arms and legs spread cruciform. A spiked shackle – too wide to allow him to harm himself but too narrow to allow him to change form – was locked in place around his neck. Silver darts protruded from the bare skin of his torso and limbs.

His head hung down, matted hair a tangle around his face, but he turned his eyes towards Viktor, red-rimmed and bloodshot.

“As promised,” Viktor said quietly, folding his hands before him, one over the other. “Yourself for her freedom. She was happy to accept it.” He smiled tightly. How better to punish them both than to make them see one another’s end. “A pity you cannot trust in the loyalty of wolves.”

He had stood there under the moonrise by the ungrateful creature’s side and watched as Sonja fled towards the forest. He had schooled his face to careful blankness as she and the vast Lycan had faced one another. She fought well, even unarmed as she was. But the wolf was larger and stronger and he fell upon her.

Lucian had screamed, but it was broken.

No small wonder, given how savagely he had been beaten. He had walked into a trap and – peppered with a dozen silver arrows – he had fallen. They had beaten him and bound him. He snarled and threatened and barked like an animal, then even – in desperation – begged like a human, throwing himself uselessly on a blade to save the subject of his perversion.

Viktor had agreed, of course. He was reasonable and the Lycan knew the value of his daughter to him. Sonja’s freedom in exchange for the beast’s own. A simple enough trade. The idiot beast believed it would give him a quick death. But Viktor had no wish to see him find respite so soon. A savage animal needed to be tamed.

Before Lucian’s eyes, they took one of his moon-changed spawn from the cells and tore him apart. His howl of fury and grief had torn the air, drawing Sonja out and… well, she saw everything exactly as Viktor intended her to see it. Misdirection as a precaution and a reminder that – to a vampire – all Lycans looked the same.

By the day’s light, the creature had to understand his sacrifice had been in vain. He would have seen the wisp of smoke over the forest as well. He would know what it meant.

“She died,” Viktor said quietly, “because of you. You… polluted her. If you had remembered your place, she would live.”

Lucian’s face was grey by the brilliant daylight. His eyes never left Viktor’s, his lips peeling back from his teeth.

“You,” Viktor continued, gazing coldly back at him. “Will be punished for your disobedience and ingratitude. The lash was clearly insufficient.”

The Lycan’s body tensed, straining against the silver shackles. His breathing deepened, slow and controlled, and Viktor could see the muscles bunching across his arms and shoulders. Metal grated on stone, but the screws went deep and not even a Lycan at full strength could hope to break free.

Viktor made a small gesture with one hand.

The guard moved alongside him and another silver bolt slammed into Lucian’s exposed belly. He grunted in pain, recoiling against the wall.

“This is your cage, beast.” Viktor murmured. “You are my possession. You will live when I say you will live and die when I say you will die.”

Lucian’s ribs were heaving, blood and saliva stringing from his mouth. His breaths were ragged rasps, his abdomen twitching around the silver dart. With visible effort, he lifted his head, meeting Viktor’s eyes again. The insolent creature grinned darkly. “You’ll regret that,” he rasped.

Viktor bared his teeth, then moved another fingertip.

Lucian hissed in pain as another dart struck him, this one in the middle of his chest, his body spasming with pain.

“I doubt that, Lycan.” Viktor stepped back in the doorway.

Lucian’s eyes never left his face until the door closed between them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonja shrank back into the meagre shelter of the shattered wagon. The Lycans had patched and covered the holes where they could, but all it would take was a gust of wind and it would mean nothing. A lifetime on the battlefield and never once had she ever felt so vulnerable, surrounded by the creatures who had been her enemies, at their mercy.  
No, not mercy.  
Whatever it was they were showing her, it wasn’t mercy.  
It was something deeper and far more primal.

The sun was blazing through the trees.

Sonja shrank back into the meagre shelter of the shattered wagon. The Lycans had patched and covered up the holes where they could, but all it would take was a gust of wind and it would mean nothing. A lifetime on the battlefield and never once had she ever felt so vulnerable, surrounded by the creatures who had been her enemies, at their mercy.

No, not mercy.

Whatever it was they were showing her, it wasn’t mercy.

It was something deeper and far more primal.

The senseless brutal animals that she had put down to protect the Coven had surrounded her and Lycan in the forest. She had expected to be torn to pieces – and the Lycan along with her – but instead, the wolves had nosed her belly and circled her, but had done nothing to harm her. They had realised what no vampire and no Lycan had yet noticed. She touched her belly. The secret she had kept, unable to believe in the secret miracle that love had created.

No, that was not mercy.

Kindness, perhaps. Protecting one they recognised as they own. Not her, but her child. Lucian’s child.

A shadow stretched across the ground and she looked up.

The big Lycan. Raze, he called himself.

He crouched down in the narrow doorway and held out a wooden bowl. She didn’t need to look to recognise the scent of blood. “It’s not much,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “You need to heal.”

“Where did you get it?”

“A deer,” Raze replied, rocking back and forward on the balls of his feet. He moved like a hunter, lightly for one so big. “Will it be enough?”

Sonja nodded gratefully, taking the bowl. It was strong, gamier than the blood served at the citadel but no less potent.

“Your wounds,” he murmured. “They need to be cleaned.”

She looked down at herself and the ragged scraps of her noble regalia. There were dozens of small wounds, some aching, some barely even noticeable. She could remember wading down a narrow stream some time in the night, running with the wolves, until her body gave up and Raze had slung her over his shoulders.

“I suppose the stream wasn’t enough.”

He shook his head. “I’ll bring some water.”

He was as good as his word and even cleaned the injuries on her back, out of her reach, dressing them with surprisingly gentle hands.

“They didn’t attack us,” he said eventually, as he helped her into the shirt he had brought for her. “The wolves. They’re sitting around the camp. Like they’re waiting for something.” He searched her face. “Why?”

She stared at him, the Lycan who could have killed her so easily, or left her to burn in the forest without regret. He had saved her for Lucian’s sake. She caught his wrist, pulling his hand down and pressing it low on her belly.

His fingers twitched, then she saw the moment he understood. He pressed his palm more firmly to her belly. “His?”

Sonja nodded. “Half vampire, half Lycan,” she whispered. “Something new. Something better.”

His face broke into a smile. “Something better,” he echoed. He glanced out into the daylight, into the brightness that dazzled her and left her half-blind. “They can tell?”

“I think so,” she admitted. “They would have killed me otherwise. I’ve always been their enemy.”

“They may be convinced to spare you.” He looked back her, his expression grim. “The rest of my kind may not be so easily convinced.”

Sonja was unsurprised. “Let me speak to them come nightfall.”

Raze’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “but they have the right to know what was done to them. What I know of their history. Of your history.” She met his eyes. “I stood by and allowed it to happen for too long. I let–” The wave of emotion stole her breath and she swallowed hard. “He told me and I didn’t want to believe him.” She shook her head. “No. I believed him. I didn’t want to see the truth.”

“They may kill you for it,” he warned her.

“I know.” She looked down at his hand still warm and broad on her belly. “And I wouldn’t blame them, but they need to know.”

Raze nodded gravely. “I understand.” He sat back, studying her. “We crossed paths once before, I think. You were the one he saved in the forest. The one he removed his collar for. The one he was beaten for saving.”

Sonja looked at him, surprised. “You were there?”

He inclined his head. “I was human then.”

It had been a wild and bloody night, but yes. There were some humans. Of course. The human Lucian had tried to free along with his brothers. The one who had been the last of those turned. “Of course,” she breathed. She glanced towards the west, in the direction that the citadel lay. “You know they won’t let you go, don’t you?”

His lip curled wryly. “If they had not made an enemy of us before, then they will claim we are an enemy for slaying their noblest daughter.” He shook his head. “They will not let us live freely, not when we are a living sign of defiance against them.”

“Lucian knew that too.” She pressed her hand to her belly, imagining the child she carried, shackled and chained like their father. “And yet he was willing to risk it all for the chance to walk free.”

“And you?” He gazed at her. “They are your kind. You believe you can stand against them?”

Sonja had to look away. “I watched them kill him. I’ve stood by and watched them kill too many only because they were _not_ him. He was _not_ an animal. None of them were.”

“If you ally yourself with us, there’s no way back.”

She smiled, dark and bitter. “So be it.”


	6. Chapter 6

The council was in disarray.

Not that they showed it, of course, but when a seat had opened up unexpectedly, questions were inevitably asked.

The Lady Sonja, Viktor announced, eyes silver and bleak, was dead, slain by the traitorous Lycan, Lucian. The stray dog had returned to savage its former master and, against her father’s wishes, she had confronted him. She had died protecting her father, a good death. Honourable. The Lycan had followed her to the grave, cut through by Viktor’s own blade.

Lies, Tanis thought, keeping his eyes on his folded hands. He had seen Sonja and Lucian together only a handful of times, but even those few times told him enough. Lucian would have ripped out his own throat rather than harm Sonja. And then there were the guards in the halls, cut down by blades rather than tooth and claw.

But the lies were convincing enough for the council to swallow them all. They knew of Lucian’s treachery. They knew of Sonja’s recklessness when protecting the coven. Lycans were fools. They would return to bite the hand that had fed them. Of course. It was the sensible, safe explanation.

But it made no sense.

Viktor would not have claimed Sonja was dead if he did not know it to be so. His love for his insubordinate, wild-spirited daughter was well-known. Therefore, someone – or something – must have killed her, but it would not have been Lucian. Tanis was more certain of that than anything else. Lucian would have returned to steal her away, but if they were both dead, who had killed them?

There must be witnesses, of course. He had seen the carnage in the keep himself. Someone had slain the soldiers in the stairs. There must be survivors who had seen all that had happened. Possibly even seen who had wounded Viktor. The guards along the walls, perhaps. Or maybe some servant in the courtyard.

To say nothing of Viktor’s calm. He was not a man known for his even temper. He had killed bearers of ill news, yet he spoke mildly about the death of his beloved, doted-upon child. If she was truly dead, where was Viktor’s fury? His threat? The blood rage? And why was his calm so much more alarming?

His attention was forced back to the present when Viktor spoke his name.

He turned, guarded. “My Lord?”

Viktor’s implacable gaze chilled him to the bone. “We have a vacant seat on the council,” he murmured, voice like steel in a silken sheath. “For the present time, you will assume the role my daughter– it will be yours for the time being.”

Through lips dry as bone, Tanis murmured, “You honour me, my Lord.” His wish, he thought, come true on the back of treason and death and lies. He bowed a little deeper than was necessary. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“Which brings us,” Viktor said, his eyes scything across the room, “to the matter of the Lycans.”

Ah, Tanis thought. That was why the seat was his: to grant Viktor a loyal supporting vote in such matters.

“They must be stopped,” Marguerita snapped. “The humans are speaking out more freely already.”

“As you have told us already,” Viktor said, his voice so quiet and unlike him that it silenced Marguerita where she stood. “The Lycans cannot have gone far. Their leader came back to the citadel, which means their camp must be close. We will send out the Death Dealers at sundown to hunt them down.”

“And do what?” Coloman asked dryly. “Round them up? Bring them back? They will not come quietly. I doubt even your will could tame them this time.”

Tanis slanted a glance back at Viktor, who tilted his head slightly, watching Coloman as a predator watches prey.

“I have no intention of making use of them again,” he said. “All those who ran will be fall. Those who survive the Death Dealers will be returned to face justice for their disloyalty. Those who still serve us will bear witness to the price of treachery.” He leaned forward on his vast stone throne, fingers curling over the arms. “They will bleed for it.”

A sickening feeling twisted beneath Tanis’s heart. While there were those among his own kind who considered him peculiarly squeamish, it was a simple fact that Viktor’s cruelty had no limit and Tanis found it often did more harm than good.

When Lucian had been flogged it had done much to stir up the other Lycans, but Viktor either chose to ignore it or was wilfully blind to the damage he was doing. Sometimes, even a domesticated beast will turn on its master, if cruelly provoked.

“My Lord,” he began cautiously.

Viktor’s icy eyes fixed on his face. “You have an… opinion, Tanis?”

Tanis bowed his head, scrabbling his thoughts together. “A concern, my Lord,” he said, praying he sounded as calm as he needed to. “They are leaderless. Lu– the Lycan was the one unifying factor. Without him, they’ll scatter.”

Viktor stared at him, as unblinking as a snake. The rasp of his nails against the stone arms of his throne sent a shudder the length of Tanis’s spine. “A more interesting hunt, then.”

Tanis swallowed hard, throat unspeakably tight. “I only mean to say, my Lord,” he said carefully, “that the Death Dealers will be drawn away indefinitely, if they are to hunt them all down. If we have no Lycans to defend us and our Death Dea–”

“Enough!” Viktor snarled, rising. “Yes, they will scatter. They are _animals_. We will hunt them as such and we will destroy them as such. Their plague on our land has gone on long enough.”

Tanis recoiled back a step, relieved to see he wasn’t the only one to do so.

Those ice eyes remained fixed on Tanis’s face and Viktor’s lips drew back from his teeth. “Do you have any more… opinions, scribe?”

Tanis shook his head at once. “No,” he breathed, “my Lord.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a day late. Got distracted yesterday.

The Lycans were gathered in the clearing long before sunset.

It took much persuasion to get them all there, especially from one so new to the blood. His defence of a dangerous vampire – the one they blamed for Lucian’s death – angered them. Only his size quelled them enough to agree to listen.

“How can you be sure she isn’t bait for another trap?” Xhristos demanded angrily. “She was used to capture him in the citadel. Now, she wants us to wait somewhere open and undefended?”

“Not undefended.” Raze looked towards the wolves. They had not attacked yet, but nor did they seem like true allies.

Sabas watched them warily. “They obeyed him. What do we do when they turn on us?”

“Pray that day never comes,” Raze replied. He turned to look around at the faces of the other slaves they had freed, their numbers growing day by day. “I do not ask you to accept the vampire. I only ask that you listen. She was Lucian’s woman. He trusted her.”

“He,” Xhristos spat, “is dead.”

“But the wolves still stay,” Sabas pointed out. “Without him. They let her pass. Why?”

Raze met his eyes. “Let her speak. That is all I ask.”

In the end, even Xhristos agreed to it, though he warned that she could be left to face the dawn if she proved an enemy.

Most of them had not seen her arrival at the camp and the few who had only saw her briefly, slung over Raze’s shoulder. When she walked into the clearing, face slashed and blackened with bruising, he saw the shudder pass through their ranks. Vampires were difficult to hurt and healed so quickly that her injuries said more for her than words.

Raze nodded to her as she passed him and walked to the heart of the clearing. She looked small there. Unarmed and battered, she might almost pass for harmless.

Her voice, though, was clear and strong.

“The vampires will be coming.”

Xhristos was on his feet in a heartbeat. “I knew–”

“Quiet,” Raze snarled, a low rumble rattling through his chest. “Let her speak.” He did not miss the grateful look that Sonja shot at him. “Continue.”

She turned to face Xhristos, fixing her eyes on him. “They will be coming. You have been freeing their slaves. You have been making them look weak and foolish. If you think they will let this pass unpunished, you are fooling yourselves.”

Xhristos bared his teeth at her. “And you are here to tell us everything we already know?” He snorted derisively.

Sonja smiled. It showed no teeth, but stretched the wounds on her face until they bled anew. “No. I’m here to tell you how you can win.”

Raze straightened up, startled. Even Xhristos seemed shocked.

“You would… betray your own kind?”

“My kind turned me out unarmed to face the wolves,” she said coolly. “My kind murdered the man I loved in front of me and forced me to watch as they burned him.” She took a step closer to Xhristos and though she was unarmed, Raze saw the other Lycan lean away from her. “Tell me, what cause do I have to be loyal to my kind?”

“Why help us?” The voice came from the crowd, not one Raze recognised.

She lifted her hand to brush a trickle of blood from her cheek. “Because he wanted you to be free. He died for you – for all of us – to be free. I won’t let that sacrifice be in vain.” She turned on the spot again and seemed to look at every face. “I know how they think. I know how they fight. I know their weaknesses and strengths. I know how to bring them to their knees. But I will need your help to do it.” Her eyes blazed ice-blue. “Will you help me avenge him? Will you help me to free your brothers?”

Raze watched their faces, listened to the hum of their voices. There was still some discord, but they were an army without a leader and a soldier was offering her sword. Every one of them knew who she was and what she was capable of. They needed strength and that was what she was offering them.

Sonja stood quietly for several long moments, then spoke again and every Lycan fell silent. “I know you don’t trust me. I know you might question my loyalties. But believe me, if you do not go with me, I intend to go back to the citadel myself and put my blade through Viktor’s throat.” She smiled bitterly, blood streaking down her cheeks. “I will let you decide if you want to join me and end all of this.”

Without another word, she walked from the clearing and the voices rose to a rumble behind her.

Raze fell into step behind her, walking with her until they were out of earshot of the clearing.

“You did not tell them everything.”

She stopped, her back to him. “I did not.”

“Why? It is glad news in this time.”

The woman turned to look up at him. “Because,” she said with a smaller, sadder smile, “they may be Lycans, but they are also men. Tell them that a woman is with child and she becomes something fragile and worthy of protection. I do not need men to defend me. I need them to fight and I cannot distract them for any reason.”

He chuckled. “It is so,” he agreed. “Some men are so foolish.”

“Most, I have found by past experience.” She touched her belly, her fingers hooking into the fabric of her shirt. “I cannot be left to hide in the shadows. I want my father to understand what he has done. I want to be the one to finish him. To finish all of this.”

Raze nodded. “You have the blood right.”

When she smiled at him, dark and bloody, he was pleased to know that she stood on his side.


	8. Chapter 8

The alarm sounded as only an hour before sunrise.

It should not have been possible. The Death Dealers had scattered to scour the forest and destroy the wolves. Istvan, one of their number returned to report what they had found: only a handful of the beasts, an abandoned camp and the charred remains of Sonja’s necklace in the dirt there.

Lycan tracks led north east, the soldier reported, so the rest of the Death Dealers followed to finish the animals, avenge their Lady and end the messy business.

It would be done tonight, Istvan swore, holding out the scorched, blackened medallion that had been Sonja’s for so long.

It would be done tonight.

And yet, the alarm was raised.

Viktor rose from his stone seat in the council chamber at once. He had not slept through the day, nor rested through the night. He had sat in the empty chamber, Sonja’s medallion carving bloody furrows into his palm, until the noise disturbed him. Boots crashed through the halls and he strode out to intercept the running guards. “What is the meaning of this?”

The guard was white-faced with terror. “They’re coming, my Lord! They cleared the forest! They’ll be here–”

“They?” Viktor’s lips peeled back from his teeth. Of course. The animals coming after their master. “The Lycans?”

“N-not just them, my Lord! Wolves! Hundreds of them!”

Viktor recoiled a step. Wolves _and_ Lycans? Impossible! “Where is your station?”

The guard pointed towards the south watch tower.

A dozen paces and twice as many steps brought him up onto the parapet, overlooking the defensive wall. Fury surged through him at the sight of the animals, pouring and crashing against the walls like a filthy wave. Why they were fighting side-by-side was a question for another day. He swept around, storming back towards his chambers.

“To arms!” he bellowed, sweeping underlings and terrified council members aside. He snapped his fingers, summoning one of the guardsmen. “Get the beast from its cell. Take it below. They won’t have him, alive or dead.”

“My lord–” Coloman pushed his way through the hurrying soldiers. “What shall we–?”

Viktor swung around, snarling. “We kill them like the dogs they are!” He bared his teeth at the vampire, who quailed before him. “If you don’t have the stomach to get your hands dirty, then by all means, run and hide.”

They scattered like frightened birds around him, some clamouring for weapons, others fleeing, their terror reeking in the air.

Tanis was awaiting him in his chamber and helped him into his armour. “It’s true, then?”

The growl rumbled in Viktor’s chest. “The ungrateful beasts turn on the hand that fed them.” He lashed on his breastplate and reached for his sword. “Go to the Elders. Make sure they are protected.”

Tanis dipped his head in a bow and withdrew.

Viktor snatched up his helmet and strode out into the halls. A squad of guards awaited him and fell into step behind him. The southern watch tower was the closest to hand, so he led them back to the parapet, launching himself down into the courtyard already heaving with soldiers and the animals.

The wolves and Lycans fought, as animals always did, with no finesse or skill, but they also lacked any fear. They threw themselves onto blades to bring their teeth and claws close enough to tear throats and bodies. Their lives seemed to mean nothing to them, as he cut through one after another, littering the ground with corpses.

And yet, as he slashed a path through them, he felt a prickle of unease down his spine. They weren’t simply lunging and charging. They were flanking. They were taking the stairs, the doors, blocking any paths in or out of the courtyard, leaving only the main gates. A handful had even vanished below.

“The prisoners!” He spun with a roar of fury. “They’re gathering reinforcements!”

The creak of the gates made him turn, horrified. The animals had found the controls. They had managed to disable the guards and the gates were swinging inwards.

More wolves poured through, but among them, a single figure walked, clad like the slaves and armed with twin swords. The moonlight shone on eyes blazing silver and she bared her teeth when she saw him.

Viktor’s heart twisted in his chest and he stumbled back a step.

Sonja.

Alive.

It all became suddenly and bitterly clear. The Death Dealers were gone, lured away by false trails, leaving them undefended. The hour before dawn, when they would not expect an attack. The way the wolves were moving, taking the higher ground and the stronger positions, as if ordered by a commander.

The beasts needed a master and now, they had one.

More were still coming, surging around her, but she ignored them as if they had not been her enemy for as long as she had been his child, striding towards him. Her eyes never left his and he remembered her last words to him, her threat.

A promise, it seemed, she intended to fulfil.

That was something he could not risk, nor allow, not for the sake of the Coven.

He stared around the courtyard, filled to overflowing with wolves and Lycans. Too many of them now, outnumbering and tearing the vampires to shreds. Better to live, gather arms and return, and then, he could remind his rebellious traitor of a child of the meaning of suffering.

“Finish them,” he snarled to his men, withdrawing back and cutting a path through the bodies around him, vampire and wolf both.

Her paths through the citadel would be used against her. The metal grate screamed as he pulled it open, dropping into the darkness below.

And over the fray, he heard her bellow of fury. “Coward!”

Viktor growled low in his throat. The lesson would come, but on his terms, and she would find out soon enough that the blade did not have to touch her flesh for it to cut her deeply.


	9. Chapter 9

The remains of the coven were being gathered, scraped out from the halls like refuse and dumped in the courtyard. The black ground was churned up with the blood, grand robes torn to ribbons, pale flesh ripped to pieces.

Sonja stood at the top of the staircase that led down to the courtyard, watching impassively. She had seen death before. Soldiers had fallen by her side. Her people. Now, she was all that was left and yet, she could not bring herself to grieve. They were the people who had made Lucian and his people bleed. They were the ones who had slain him.

Blood for blood.

Footfalls approached her from behind.

“You should go inside,” Raze murmured, stopping several paces away. “The sun is coming soon.”

She glanced towards the sky, where the first glimpses of light were shading the black to gold. “Any word from the river?”

The Lycan shook his head. “They will return soon. I will bring you news as soon as they do.”

Sonja nodded, turning and walking up the staircase into the citadel. Her footsteps echoed eerily back around her, the last vampire left. Most of the council were stacked in the courtyard, awaiting the sun. Her father – like a coward – had fled. The coffins of the Elders were gone too, which meant there were at least a handful of survivors to bear them away.

Claws clicked on stone and she felt the animal heat of a werewolf as it slunk alongside her. They had followed her, defended her. She hesitated, then reached out, laying her hand on the broad, furred back. The wolf chuffed a blood-scented breath, nudging her hip with its shoulder.

The last vampire in the citadel, she thought, sinking her fingers into the warm, damp fur, but not alone. A strange thing, to be reassured by the presence of former enemies.

Why her feet carried her to the council chamber, she did not know. She had hated that room for so long, a place where she had to wear the façade of a diplomatic noble, force smiles in the face of her father’s brutality, and imagine herself being anywhere but there. Perhaps even happy, although that had been a fragile hope, even then.

The floor was awash with blood.

The wolf paused in the doorway, growling low in its throat.

“They’re gone,” she murmured, stepping down onto the floor. It was sticky underfoot, the gaps between the flagstones dark and gleaming by the flickering torchlight.

She crossed the room to the stone chair – the throne – her father had made for himself and ran her fingertips along the arm, touching the ridges left by centuries of her father curling his fingers over the stone. Her fingers slid smoothly into those worn grooves, as if they were made for her.

One day, he had vowed, this chair would be hers.

Now, it was.

He had fled.

Like an animal, he had fled, without honour or courage.

What right did he have to walk away, while people bled in his place? What right did he have to choose how this ended?

Fury tore through her and she slammed her fist into his mark, his sigil, the only part of him that he had left behind. Her knuckles broke open, but she hit it again and again, until the stone splintered and cracked.

“You bastard!” Her voice was ragged with grief. “You coward!”

Only when the sigil lay in shattered fragments on the floor did she stop, stumbling back, blood dripping from her hand. Outside, she could hear the howls of the Lycans and caught the scent of smoke and flesh. The sun had risen. The coven was burning.

Gone.

They were all gone.

Sonja felt suddenly and utterly exhausted. Nights and days of terror and loss and no respite to think or grieve or catch her breath. She sank to sit on the step beside the throne, turning over her bloodied hand. It was a foolish gesture that would help no one, to damage herself like that, and yet, she couldn’t stop herself.

Gingerly, she brushed shards of stone from her skin, fresh blood pooling on the floor between her feet.

Her companion, the solitary wolf crept over, curling its body around hers. Its vast head settled on her lap, close to her belly. Protecting, she thought distantly. Comforting. Tears sprang to her eyes. It should have been his place. He should have been there. She buried her face in the wolf’s fur, letting the magnitude of it all smother her.

She was wrung dry when she heard the Lycans hurrying through the halls.

“Here,” she called out, sitting up, trying to gather herself.

Raze led the band into the room. One was limping and another had a makeshift bandage wrapped around his arm. Sonja pushed the wolf’s head aside gently, then rose, despite the tremors of fatigue shaking her limbs. She had sent a squad of them to watch the gorge as a precaution. It seemed it had been a wise decision.

“They were there?” Her voice was steady, but every word was a labour. “Did you find them?”

One of them – Sabas, she remembered – nodded. “They were there, but they were too far out.” A wince of pain crossed his face. “We threw fireballs and tried to reach the ship across the rocks, but they had traps under the waterline. We lost half a dozen of our number and the water was too fast.”

Viktor was gone, then, and with him, the Elders and the other survivors.

It had been too much to hope for, to think it could end so easily.

“They would not have fled undefended.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should have thought of that.” She looked over her shoulder at the ruin of her father’s throne. “We need to regroup.” She looked back at them. “This room isn’t big enough. At nightfall, gather everyone in the courtyard. We need to decide what happens from here.” 


	10. Chapter 10

There was no sound but the creak of the ship, the slap of the water, and the snap of the sails in the wind. The wolves had fallen behind, their frenzied snarls and howls trailing into nothing as the ship picked up speed, ploughing through the gorge and onward to safety. Humans scampered about on the deck, their footfalls muffled through the thick wood.

Tanis allowed himself to breathe for the first time in what seemed like hours.

The Elders were safe, their sarcophagi closed up in the hold. The few surviving council members were huddled in one of the chambers in the bow, shaken and bloodied. Viktor was not with them. As soon as he came aboard, he retreated into his own sarcophagus alongside the elders.

Something was amiss.

The soldiers who had come aboard with him were silent and grim. Perhaps it was only because the citadel had fallen, but Tanis couldn’t help feeling that something was going unsaid. They were too tense, too pale, and one bore the marks of cruel nails on his throat.

When he tried to ask what they had seen in the citadel, the soldiers – as one – looked in the direction of the hold. Their silence, it seemed, was by command. And so close upon the deaths of both Sonja and Lucian?

Another secret, another lie, something else hiding in plain sight.

Trapped as he was, Tanis left the brooding soldiers and the anxious elders, wandering through the hold of the ship. It was a large vessel, with room enough for dozens, but now, it lay half-empty. There were so few of them left, everything of value left behind to the Lycans. For a moment, he stood in silence, mourning his scrolls and the documents he had gathered over lifetimes.

As he picked his way through the ship, he paused, frowning.

The Elders had been his responsibility, but there was a strange casket thrown into one of the empty chambers on the port side. It was a large chest, wide and deep, but not from the treasury, nor from the archives. Heavy bolts suggested it contained something of value.

Tanis glanced back through the dark belly of the ship. The only guards were resting. They had fought hard and believed themselves safe. No one noticed Tanis slipping through the open doorway and into the room. He knelt quickly beside the chest, lifting the heavy bolts and sliding them open one by one. They moved smoothly, not even making a sound.

He paused again, listening for footsteps, but below decks all was silent.

With care, he caught the corners of the chest, heaving the lid open. The stink of rotten blood and sweat hit him like a wave and he fumbled to keep from dropping the lid.

In the gloom, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the coiled shape inside the chest, then he recognised the pale face, the matted black hair and the pain-sheened eyes.

“Lucian,” he breathed, shocked.

The Lycan’s lips parted, cracking, fresh blood beading on them. Pain ghosted across his face, his eyes pressing closed.

Tanis’s heart thundered against his ribs as he searched the Lycan. No wonder he was in pain. The trunk was studded with silver and at least half a dozen barbed darts jutted out of his battered body. Cuffs were locked around his wrists and silver stabbed at his throat from his collar.

A clatter from the bow made Tanis glance back, worried, and he flinched, startled, when a hand caught his wrist.

Lucian’s eyes were open again, nearly black, the iris nearly invisible. He stared at Tanis, searching his face. “Sonja?” His voice sounded like gravel over rocks.

Tanis shook his head. “Dead,” he whispered, though he lowered his head and added, “so Viktor claimed. He said the same of you.”

Lucian blinked slowly, his grip shaking around Tanis’s wrist. “Viktor said…” he echoed, grief visible on the drawn lines of his face. With visible effort, he swallowed, shifting his head. His brow furrowed. “Where?” he breathed. “Water?”

Tanis hesitated. A sensible man would close the casket at once and join the guards in stony silence, but the Lycans had come once. There was no reason they would not come again. If one was to be pragmatic, better to curry favour where one could, even if that meant forming an allegiance with a captive.

He lowered his head, close to Lucian’s ear. “The citadel has fallen,” he breathed, clasping Lucian’s hand around his wrist. “Most of the council are dead. Your friends were… unhappy to hear of your death.”

Lucian’s fingers trembled under his. “My friends.” He laughed hoarsely. “Good.”

Footfalls were moving and Tanis glanced back, alarmed. “I must go,” he whispered. “They will be watching.” He squeezed Lucian’s hand. “Your people survive, Lycan. Remember that.”

It took no effort to slip his arm free of Lucian’s grip and he closed the casket as quietly as he could, sliding the bolts back in place. His heart pounded as the footsteps came closer and he ducked into the shadows beside the door, barely daring to breath until the guard marched past towards the stern.

As soon as the passage was clear, he crept back along towards the bow to join the remaining survivors, seating himself on a stool beside the wall, his mind whirling.

Viktor had been adamant that Lucian and Sonja had both been killed. Why, then, was one of them alive? And if Sonja died on his account, how had he survived Viktor’s wrath? Even to the degree of being smuggled from the citadel?

Unless, Tanis recoiled at the thought, Viktor want to take his vengeance at his leisure.

He looked back towards the corridor. Perhaps he should have given the Lycan a merciful death. Spared him whatever Viktor had in store. But then, if he had done so, he would have guaranteed himself a much slower death by contrast.

In the damp dark of the ship’s bow, Tanis shivered.


End file.
